


Civil Hands Unclean

by lovelyleias



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, Romeo and Juliet AU, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/pseuds/lovelyleias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette rubbed at her eyes. “I have fallen ill, and you must pray for me.”</p><p>“By God! What ails you?”</p><p>“True love,” Cosette whispered so that Éponine could barely hear. </p><p>“Well,” she said with a laugh. “I do not know the cure for such a disease, but at least you will not have to suffer it alone. Goodnight, my sweet Cosette. It pains me to part from you, so I will find you tomorrow.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil Hands Unclean

The gulls did not cry the night of the murders. The water in the river seemed to still and the entire city held its breath. At midnight, the unfortunate family members found the bodies of two women and a man in the Capulet crypt. The mothers wailed and wept for their children, and the fathers felt their faces turn ashen. Éponine, the Montague girl, had froth and bloody vomit smeared around her mouth. The man, Marius, was sprawled out by the entrance, his body bled dry from a wound to his stomach. The offending blade had found a new home between the Capulet girl’s—Cosette— breasts. Whilst Marius had died alone, the two women were entangled in each other’s arms.

What a bloody night! What a foul sight to see! Why do fresh and youthful people, barely out of childhood, turn to utter chaos?

We shall see, oh, we shall see. 

—

The door to Éponine’s chamber was open and unlocked. Montparnasse entered without ceremony, only to see his friend staring into her mirror, her face creased with burden. Her fingers twist worriedly at a red ribbon

“What ails you on a day as bright as this one, Éponine?” He greeted her.

She stepped towards him, eyes dark with woe. “Wanting love does not make a person greedy, does it? For it’s all I want but I would never associate myself with such a sin.”

He sighed. “Surely gentlemen lay themselves at your feet.”

Éponine tied the ribbon into her hair and eyed a hastily drawn sketch on her table. “It is not gentlemen that I seek.”

Montparnasse followed her gaze to the messy drawing and his eyes widened. “Capulet’s niece? Do my eyes deceive me, or do you dwell upon Musichetta’s fair face?”

“I’d certainly be a fool not to!” She cried, clutching him by the collar.

“Well, then you’re in for a terrible shock,” Montparnasse pried her strong fingers off. “You’re not allowed to talk to her. There was a fight last night and the prince intervened. Your father’s family and his supporters are now forbidden from engaging with her uncle’s family and his!”

Éponine dropped to floor, disregarding the expensive fabric of her dress. “Tell me that I dream, dear friend,” she whispered, staring up at him with wide dark eyes. “Tell me that I am sleeping, and when I wake in my bed my life will not have been shattered before my very eyes.”

“Come now,” Montparnasse rolled his eyes and extended a hand. Éponine accepted his soft fingers reluctantly and rose to her feet. “You do not sleep, I swear it. I heard the prince state his little law, for I fought in your father’s name. Cease with such dramatics before you bring pain to my head. Musichetta’s beauty is undeniable, but I know you’ve never shared a word with her before. Besides, she is a girl, as are you.”

“And yet I care not,” the stricken woman mused. “It is, perhaps, a strange affliction of my humours or of my mind to be a tribade. But I have never minded. I should have known you were in the brawl, and yet you wear nary a scratch. I remain unsurprised.”

“What’s this?” 

Éponine and Montparnasse turned to see Grantaire leaning against the doorframe.

“It would appear that your cousin has been won over by Musichetta’s pretty little face,” Montparnasse informed their friend with a sly leer. 

“A face that’s won many hearts, no doubt,” Grantaire clasped Éponine’s shoulder. “We shall away to the Capulet ball tonight, then. You can gaze at your Aphrodite incarnate, my comely Artemis.”

“I do not care for your jests at this moment,” Éponine pulled the ribbon from her hair, sending dark waves cascading down her back. “I beg you to be grim.” 

“I am never afflicted by melancholy,” Grantaire insisted, staring into Éponine’s black eyes. “And nor would you be, if you listened to me for once.”

“To be fair,” Montparnasse drawled as he gazed out of the chamber’s grand window. “Your words are rarely worth hearing.”

Grantaire roared with ugly laughter as if he had been told a bawdy yarn. “I promise you’ll want to heed these.” 

“Speak, Grantaire,” came Éponine’s frustrated declaration.

“The ball I told you of is not one of normal standards,” the dark-haired main informed elatedly. “It is a masquerade. Do you not see? Of course we shall be attending, though not as ourselves.”

Éponine clasped her hands together and pressed a kiss to her cousin’s bristly cheek. “What a wondrous person you are! I will dress as a man, find Musichetta and she will realize that she returns my passions.” 

“And if she doesn’t not?” Montparnasse added with folded arms.

“I would not be troubled if you were to swallow your tongue, friend,” Éponine glared as Montparnasse shook his head.

“You are walking into a dangerous environment,” he insisted, ignoring the amused glance shared by Éponine and Grantaire. “The Capulets will kill a Montague on sight.”

“Do not take me for a child, if you please. I keep a dagger, a gift from my father, sewn into a special pocket that fits into my skirts.”

Montparnasse nodded his approval. “Like anyone with half a brain would.”

“I tend to go weaponless,” Grantaire broke in cheerfully.

“Exactly.”

—

On the other side of Verona, a girl and her manservant sat in the courtyard of the Capulet house.

“I do not see why I must attend tonight,” Cosette frowned and brushed a lock of stray dark hair from her face.

“Your father insists that a union between your family and the Count’s would be most ideal,” Courfeyrac reminded her with a kind smile.

“But I don’t want to marry Count Marius,” she insisted, grasping her dear servant’s hands with her own. “Please, Courf, would you hide me? Tell Father that I’ve fallen ill?” 

“I will do no such thing,” he told her sternly but squeezed her hands all the same. “Do not make a fuss, sweet child. You will go and enjoy yourself, but show Marius that you are interested in receiving his courtship.”

Cosette’s eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Oh, no time for that,” the manservant said with a gentle smile. “Come my dear, we shall find your sweetest dress.” 

— 

The ball had brought Capulets, their family and their friends from across Italy.

Éponine, Grantaire and Montparnasse; the uninvited, weaved their way through hoards of merry folk, intent on finding one person.

Éponine secured her green mask and the cap that hid her hair. Wearing trousers felt strange, but walking in them was a far easier task.

“Have you seen Musichetta?” she hissed in Grantaire’s ear.

Her cousin’s mask was adorned with feathers and gaudy paints. He turned and she leaned back, narrowly avoiding being hit with a bright feather.

“I have seen many beautiful ladies, but not one of them appears to be your Aphrodite.”

Éponine bit her lips rather than voice her frustration. “Alright. Do let me know.”

She pushed past her kinsman and allowed herself to be swallowed by the crowd. She spun through laughing and dancing ladies and gentlemen who would have her head if she removed her mask.

It was then that she saw her. Not the woman she sought, no, all thoughts of wooing Musichetta had fled the moment she saw the dancing girl. Her dark hair was pinned up and covered with a fashionable headdress, yet curly tendrils had freed themselves. Her dress was green and gold, just like the eyes that peered through her silver mask. Despite her beauty, she danced alone, looking very much like a nymph who had stumbled upon the party. 

Enchanted, Éponine slipped through the crowd, never taking her eyes off the girl. When she reached her, the girl stopped her dance and stared. 

“Why is it that one so beautiful must dance alone?” Éponine extended her arm as an invitation.

The girl accepted with a curious smile. “Solitude is my choice, but perhaps I shall make an exception.”

Éponine placed her free hand on the girl’s waist and guided her to the dance floor. 

“Do you have a name, fair lady?” Éponine asked, careful to keep her voice lower than its usual pitch. “Or do nymphs not need names? Perhaps those who frolic barefoot in the woods require no such chains.”

The girl laughed heartily as she allowed herself to be spun. “You could call me ‘nymph’, but I prefer Cosette. Cosette Capulet.”

Éponine squeezed her eyes shut. Of course she was too much like a dream to be real. Capulet women and their beguiling ways were becoming exhausting

“Did I say something wrong, sir?” Cosette frowned as the music picked up.

“I doubt that anything criminal has ever left your sweet lips,” Éponine told her softly, spinning her around and trying to ignore the sweet scent of her hair. “But I fear you will not wish to dance with me for much longer.”

“Because of who our fathers are?” The girl chuckled as Éponine tripped over her own feet in shock. “I am no fool, and you dance like a woman even when you lead like a man. I’ve seen your face before, Éponine Montague.”

Éponine drew deep breaths, attempting to calm her pounding heart. “I did not recognize you for the mask. Why do you not call your guards?” 

Cosette placed her a soft hand on Éponine’s cheek, not at all calming the other girl’s anxious state. “Because I am not one to deny myself of what I want, and I daren’t keep company with anything less beautiful than you.” 

Éponine lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you a tribade?”

“I am,” Cosette said simply.

The Montague girl whirled the Capulet girl around the floor, ignoring the couples attempting a more courteous dance.

Éponine’s smile faded when she felt a tap against her shoulder.

“Excuse me, my friend,” she turned to see a man dressed in a bright red cloak. “Surely you wouldn’t prevent me from dancing with my betrothed?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Éponine said grandly, giving Cosette’s arm a tight squeeze, before letting her go. She was pained by how white Cosette turned when the man, her supposed fiancé, pulled her into a stiff dance.

— 

When the ball had finished, Cosette threw herself into her chamber, humming the cheerful songs that had been played during the evening.

“It would seem that you made peace with Marius, after all,” Courfeyrac said, amused with her antics.

“Hardly!” She cried. “I met someone of my dreams tonight. Oh, Courfeyrac, I finally know what it means to find love. For now that I have found it, I shall hold it tight and never let it go.” 

Courfeyrac stayed silent as Cosette tumbled down into a plush chair. 

“You won’t tell my father, will you? Promise you won’t!” The girl was flushed with heat and emotion.

“How could I do such a thing?” Courfeyrac smiled fondly as Cosette’s face lit up again. “I may be employed by your father, but you know it is you that I’ve served, ever since you were a screaming babe.”

Cosette laughed and ran into her servant’s arms. “You are so good to me.”

Courfeyrac kissed her hair. “Get some rest, my lady.”

Thirty seconds had not passed since Courfeyrac had left before she heard tapping at her balcony window. Frowning, she pushed the curtains open and stepped through the window to the balcony. Chilled, she rubbed at her arms through her nightgown.

“Who is there?” She called. “Speak!”

“Do not fear, it is only your faithful Éponine,” the woman stepped from behind a tree. She had changed into a dress, and her unbound black hair blew freely in the wind. 

“Were you throwing stones at my window pane?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I heard you speak. You found love tonight. Will you break my heart and name another suitor?” Éponine’s words were somber but a cheeky grin found its home upon her lips.

“Do not jest,” Cosette smiled down. “I have eyes only for the girl beneath my balcony.”

“Then I will sleep well tonight,” Éponine stated. “That man from the ball. Are you really to marry him?”

“Yes,” Cosette wrung her hands. “It was never my wish, it was arranged by our fathers.”

“As is everything.”

“Too right. But what shall become of us?” For the second time in the day, Cosette felt as if she might break down in tears.

“My sweet love, do not cry,” Éponine soothed. “You know, I picked you some wildflowers and threw them straight into the river to drown!”

“Oh, foolish girl! Why waste such pretty things?” 

“Because I am not one to deny myself of what I want,” The girl tossed her black hair and repeated Cosette’s words. “And I daren’t keep company with anything less beautiful than you.”

Cosette rubbed at her eyes. “I have fallen ill, and you must pray for me.”

“By God! What ails you?”

“True love,” Cosette whispered so that Éponine could barely hear. 

“Well,” she said with a laugh. “I do not know the cure for such a disease, but at least you will not have to suffer it alone. Goodnight, my sweet Cosette. It pains me to part from you, so I will find you tomorrow.”

She blew the other girl a kiss, and disappeared into the night, too blinded by love to notice the footsteps running in the opposite direction.

— 

The next morning, Éponine stepped happily out of her father’s house, when a hand grabbed her roughly by the shoulder.

“Come with me,” Montparnasse growled.

“Unhand me now,” she glared, but saw the enraged expression worn by her friend. “What has happened?”

“Grantaire and I spent the night listening to you chatter about your newfound love, but it would seem we are not the only ones who know. You were overheard.”

“What?” Éponine gasped, suddenly feeling very cold despite the high sun.

“Enjolras, do you know him?” Montparnasse pulled her briskly through the street. 

“Of course. A Capulet. Cosette’s cousin.”

“He has been slandering you in the square. Grantaire has had much to drink and is challenging him to a duel.” 

“No,” Éponine said angrily. “I will not have him harming Cosette’s kinsman, however vile he may be.”

Shouting and the clashing of blades grew loud as they entered the square. A large crowd had gathered around the fighting men.

“Stop this madness,” Éponine shrieked, breaking through the crowd. “Grantaire, sheath your blade.”

“You did not hear the filth that came from his mouth,” Grantaire snarled, lunging forward to clash swords with the blonde man he fought. “He called you a whore, he called you a—”

Her cousin’s words were silenced when Enjolras took that moment to slip his sword through her proxy’s ribs. Grantaire fell forward, stiff with shock, and Éponine and Montparnasse raced to his side.

“Look at me,” Éponine swore, clutching his head in her lap. “Do not dare close your eyes, look at me!”

Grantaire reached a bloody hand up to her face, wiping away the tears that streamed freely down her cheeks. “Seek your sweetheart. Do not let him hinder you. Your families have unleashed a hell upon Verona.” 

He took a shuddering gasp and died in her arms. The crowd began to disperse uneasily.

“Murderer,” Éponine hissed glaring up at Enjolras.

“I think not,” the pretty man replied, cleaning the blood from his blade. “He was your champion, and he lost.”

“I requested no champion,” Éponine growled, feeling for the blade in her skirt. “He fought you for speaking ill of my name and you murdered him.”

With an inhuman cry, she flew at Enjolras. Taken by surprise, he gave no defense, and she easily opened his throat with her blade, dousing them both with blood. Enjolras fell to the ground to bleed to death, and Montparnasse enveloped the screeching Éponine in his arms, dragging her away from the scene.

Grantaire and Enjolras’ bodies were left alone.

—

“You can stay here for today, but you’ll have to leave in the morning,” Montparnasse instructed as they entered his home. “The Capulet’s will not be satisfied until they spill your blood.”

“Wait,” Éponine pleaded. “Bring Cosette to me, friend. Let me see her one last time.”

Montparnasse gritted his teeth. “Go upstairs to the empty bedchamber and lock the door. I will try my best.”

He left without another word, and Éponine allowed herself to cry. Taking a life was an ugly business, but she did not regret the revenge.

—

It seemed as if hours had passed before Montparnasse returned. Éponine had spent the time pacing the floor. She had changed into Montparnasse’s clothes, unwilling to spend another moment in a dress so sullied by the blood of her friend and her foe.

The knock on the door caused her to jump.

“Who is there?” She called carefully.

“It is I,” came Montparnasse’s reply. “And I have brought you a guest.”

Éponine opened the door a crack and Cosette crashed through, pulling her into a crushing hug. Montparnasse tipped his hat and left the room, careful to close the door. 

“Please, dear heart,” Cosette begged. “Please tell me you aren’t running away!”

“I must,” the girls sat on the bed and Éponine cradled her weeping mistress’s head against her heart. “Your family will see me dead.”

“I won’t let them,” Cosette said fiercely. “I won’t let them kill you, Éponine, I’d rather die than spend a single day without you. Or, I’ll run to exile with you!”

“Your family would disown you,” Éponine told her softly. The sleeves of Montparnasse’s shirt were much too long, so she removed it, revealing only her underclothes. “Shall we play a game? I believe I know one that will ease your heart.” 

“What game?” Cosette asked warily, eyeing Éponine’s shed over clothing. 

“We shall pretend that we are married,” she pulled the ribbon from her hair and tied it around Cosette ring finger. “There. We have no priest, but it is true in the eyes of God, the only eyes that truly matter.”

Cosette gave her a watery smile. “What happens next?”

Éponine pulled the girl close and kissed her lips, tasting salty tears. Cosette froze for a moment, before pressing her lips against Éponine’s and running her fingers through the other girl’s hair. They parted with a gasp. 

“This is our marriage bed, and we are married,” Éponine pulled down the sleeve of Cosette’s dress, exposing her breasts. Cosette flushed pink but smiled shyly. “And now we are free to consummate it. Does that sound like a game you might like to play?”

“Very much.”

—

Cosette snuck back into her home by climbing up the vines and onto her balcony. She knocked on the window, knowing Courfeyrac would be waiting. He opened up it up, and the grim look on his face wiped the pleased smile clean from her face.

—

“Please, Mama,” Cosette threw herself on her knees and begged at Lady Capulet’s feet. “Do not make me wed Marius, I will drive myself to madness!”

“Your father has already sent word,” Lady Capulet said sharply. “Now rise before you sully your skirt. You will be a bride in two days time. And take that silly ribbon from your hand, it looks ridiculous.” 

“I am already a bride,” Cosette hissed, fleeing from her confused mother.

—

“What will I do?” Cosette whispered to Courfeyrac, her hair a tangled mess. “I cannot live like this, not when I lost her so quickly! A life with Marius will surely spell my death.”

Courfeyrac, usually so quick so share a plan, remained silent.

“You know something don’t you,” she accused. “Please Courfeyrac, I have nothing left to lose, I will do whatever it is you suggest.”

—

“Where will you go?” Montparnasse asked, as he handed his friend the clothing she had requested.

“France, perhaps,” Éponine told him, accepting the clothes and shoving them into a pack. “I will steal a horse from my father’s stable. And perhaps, in time, I can come back for Cosette.”

“Good luck,” he clasped her by the shoulder. She closed her hand around his and nodded her thanks.

—

“Are you certain it will work?” Cosette said, eyeing the curious vile. As much as it might pain her to admit, the potion frightened her.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac told her solemnly. “By all appearances you will be dead and they will lay you in the crypt. When you awaken, I swear I will help you get away.”

“Éponine told me that she is going north-west.”

“Then I can send a messenger to tell her of your plan. Perhaps someone from the kitchen.”

Cosette hugged her servant tightly. “You are a true friend.” 

She took the vial and pictured Éponine’s sweet and crooked smile. With a deep breath, she swallowed the bitter liquid. 

— 

Éponine had only been riding for an hour when a horse overtook her.

“Montparnasse?” She hissed in shock, pulling her braying horse to a stop. “Why have you followed me?”

“You’ll want to come home,” he instructed gravelly. “You’ll want to say your goodbyes.”

—

Éponine staggered into the crypt, her mind hazy with alcohol and grief. It was late in the evening, so she had assumed that she would be allowed to greave alone. Yet a figure knelt by Cosette’s side.

“What a pretty bride,” she whispered. The figure turned. Marius. He touched Cosette’s hand, a hand as lily-white as her dress.

“I do not recognize your face,” he rose and turned to her. His eyes were red.

“Nor should you. My face is just a face among many. How many nameless faces are born everyday to replace the nameless ones that die, hm? Who will replace this girl? Who will replace me? It matters not, for they too will fall one day.”

Marius sniffed the air. “You are drunk, stranger.”

“Yes! For I carry two poisons in my pocket. One is the very spirits my treasured cousin was once so thirsty for. But now he lies cold, colder even than Cosette, whose blood has barely had the time to chill. The other is one that I bought from the apothecary before I arrived here. It will surely allow me to join them.”

“I beg you to save your savage speech. And how do you know her name?” 

“We were startlingly close, one might say.”

“Oh?”

“But no longer,” Éponine laughed harshly and stumbled towards her lover’s body. “The world stopped the moment Cosette’s breathing ceased. Children dropped their games. Birds fell from the sky. Angels wept bitter tears. But my grief is fiercer than theirs.”

“Do not speak to me of loss, woman, when it is I who have come to mourn my wife-to-be.”

“Oh, and how you must grieve for a girl who sobbed in my arms at the thought of sharing your bed!” Éponine jeered, her face twisting into grotesque expressions. “What she wanted was not the rough and ugly body of a man. I would know!”

Marius’ face drained of all colour. “Did you lie with my betrothed?”

“Yes. And I pleased her in ways that you would never be able to. But far more importantly, she loved me. She loved me like she could never love you.”

“You… you sorceress,” Marius hissed, staggering from Cosette’s body and towards Éponine. “You mad bitch. I know you now, you are the one who slaughtered Enjolras.”

He lunged forward with fire in his eyes. Without thinking, Éponine pulled the dagger from her trousers and buried it in Marius’ belly. He looked down in shock as blood began to seep out of the wound. With a vicious snarl, Éponine twisted the blade and pulled it out, splattering the floor with blood. Marius stumbled back and sank to his knees.

“Not like this,” he croaked, gazing up at Éponine. She placed a cool hand on his cheek and tossed the blade to the floor. 

“I am sorry,” she whispered, suddenly feeling very sober. “But it matters not who dies now. Be with God.”

Marius groaned and fell to the ground, his lifeless eyes gaping at the angel carvings on the ceiling.

“Oh Cosette, Cosette,” Éponine whispered and returned to the body, raining tears onto the dead girl’s face. She dropped the bloody knife to the ground, where it clattered. “Why did you not wait for me? I would have returned. But it is not your fault, my beloved. For we will be reunited in a moment.”

With trembling hands, Éponine pulled the bottle of clear poison from her pocket. It was so small, she scarcely believed that it had the power to take her life.

She leaned over and kissed Cosette’s cold lips. Squeezing her eyes shut, she downed the vial in one sip. The pain was immediate, as the liquid scorched down and through her insides. She fell to the floor and cried out in pain as blood expelled from her mouth. She convulsed for a moment, and then ceased to move, stilled by a violent death.

Mere moments after Éponine’s breathing stopped, Cosette’s started. She awoke with a gasp, feeling ill and weak. 

“Courfeyrac was right,” she whispered happily. “How foolish of me to ever doubt him!”

Pulling herself up, her eyes landed on Marius’s bloody corpse. She shrieked in fear and shock. She had no love for the man, but seeing him so bloody brought horror to her heart. Shakily, she pulled herself from the stone and crawled to his side.

“What has happened?” She gasped fearfully, following the trail of blood to the other side of the crypt. She seized a bloody knife and viewed the body behind it.

“No, no, no,” she moaned. She knew what she would find, but she did not wish to see. And yet she crawled closer. Éponine stared up at her as sightlessly as Marius, her mouth covered in foam and blood.

Cosette grasped Éponine’s lifeless arm and began to wail.

When she had screamed her voice away, she gathered Éponine’s corpse into her arms, still holding the soiled knife.

“I thought you would know,” she croaked into her lover’s deaf ear. “I did this, and now we are forever separated. But we don’t have to be.”

With choking sobs, Cosette raised the dagger to her heart, holding tightly to Éponine with her free hand. She dug the knife into her flesh, letting out silent screams of agony.

“It will be worth it,” she wept, lying down on the cold stone and holding Éponine in her arms as her life bled away. “It will be worth it if I can spend an eternity in Heaven with you.”


End file.
